


Jeanflation

by WhiskeyDreams



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Figure Skating Off-Season, Jeanflation, M/M, Otabek just wants to nap, POV Otabek Altin, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, contemplating retirement - but not really, gratuitous complaining about biased judges, yuri is frustrated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23672533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeyDreams/pseuds/WhiskeyDreams
Summary: “That was my World-title, Beka.”“I know, kitten.”“He doesn't deserve those GOE.”“I know, kitten.”- - -All Otabek wants to do is to curl up in bed with his boyfriend and start the off-season with a well-deserved nap. Unfortunately for him, all Yuri wants to do is vent his frustration about ending the season with a silver medal at Worlds.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	Jeanflation

“Maybe I should just retire.”

It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, what Otabek had expected to hear while basking in the afterglow of a round of sluggish but very nice shower-sex right after collecting Yuri from the airport. It wasn't what he'd expected to hear, period. His eyes flew open as the warm post-orgasm glow was sucked out of him in a cold rush.

“What? Why?”

He stared at Yuri, sprawled out on the bed next to him, who in turn scowled up at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him, all of his ancestors, and his cat. Otabek thought he already knew the answer, of course, but his brain was working rather slowly at the moment.

“You know why,” Yuri snapped, predictably, and Otabek sighed, closing his eyes again. It had been less than two days; of course they were far from being through with this topic. And that was fine with him. He just would have preferred a less dramatic approach, or maybe even just one that did not ruin his afterglow.

“That was my World-title, Beka.”

“I know, kitten.”

“He doesn't deserve those GOE.”

“I know, kitten.”

“And I'm sick and tired of seeing him get showered with bullshit PCS by the judges.”

Otabek knew that as well, but he wasn't sure how much longer his repetitive responses would be tolerated. They were having this conversation, whether Otabek liked it or not.

“There's a hashtag for it by now, have you seen it? 'Jeanflation'. It's not happening in a vacuum, Yura. People are aware.” He wasn't sure whether this was a helpful contribution or not. Sometimes reminding Yuri of his loyal fans cheered him up; sometimes it made him cringe. Both were perfectly valid and reasonable reactions, in Otabek's opinion. Today, Yuri's response was a derisive snort.

“Yeah, I've seen it. It was already trending after the short program. But it doesn't fucking matter. The judges won't change their mind because of some stupid hashtag. Most of them are ancient old geezers who probably don't even know what social media is.”

Otabek merely hummed at that; Yuri knew that he was exaggerating, so there was no need to point it out. Plus, he did have a point – it was unlikely that the judges would be swayed by a horde of angry internet warriors. They were swayed by far more important and influential figures, and those figures rarely boasted about it on twitter.

“At least JJ is actively trying to actually earn the component scores he's getting. His transitions have become a lot better lately,” Otabek pointed out carefully, meaning well, but instantly realized that it was the wrong thing to say when Yuri's furious gaze focused on him.

“Which side are you fucking on here, Beka? I know he's your friend, not that I will ever understand fucking _why_ , but you know I'm better than him. I've been better than him _for ages_.”

“I know, kitten. You have the Olympic gold to prove it, don't you?”

“Feels like that was forever ago, though,” Yuri griped, “And I feel like people are starting to forget about it.”

At this point in the Olympic cycle it was probably only natural that the public interest was beginning to focus on the upcoming Games instead, but he could see why this shift might have felt more jarring for Yuri, with the hype around his victory finally fading for good.

The transformation from „Russian Fairy“ to „Russian Punk“ had, against the expectations from his coaching team, worked absolute wonders for Yuri. He had held the judges favor firmly in his hand and had the artistic and technical content to back it up, soaring from one gold medal to the next with no end in sight.

But it seemed, lately, for one reason or another, that the figure skating world had grown tired of the Russian Bad Boy and his edgy attitude. Or at least that was what Yuri's Angels were trying to tell everyone who would listen to them long enough. Otabek wasn't one for conspiracy theories, but he couldn't deny that things were shifting, and they weren't shifting in Yuri's favor.

“It's like they're trying to push me out of the way or something. They're tired of Russian and Japanese dominance. They don't want another Nikiforov, they want a North American superstar to push the sport there. And I happen to be in the way of that.”

It was hard to argue against that, and the bitter hopelessness in Yuri's voice broke Otabek's heart. 

“He's older than you. He should retire first, don't you think?”

“They won't let him. Hell, if he had to skate on crutches he'd still get higher PCS than me. He's the only one they have. Leo is washed up at this point. And that new kid, what's-his-face, his under-rotations are still so glaringly obvious that they don't dare not to call them, yet. But they'll start pushing him next, mark my words. His scores will be just as ridiculous as Leroy's in a season or two. If he doesn't break his neck on those two-footed quad lutzes first, that is. Guess there's that to hope for.“

“Yura,” Otabek scolded halfheartedly, because he knew Yuri didn't actually mean it. He slung his arm around him and pulled him close, hoping to distract him and let the topic rest, but Yuri wiggled out of the embrace and shot him an accusing glare.

“Lilia said I need to change my image.”

“She's still bitter about Welcome to the Madness.”

“Yeah but maybe she has a point. The judges seem to eat up all of Leroy's stupid straight guy act, with his purity ring and that ugly-ass hag hanging from his arm whenever there's a camera around. They're tired of a foul-mouthed gay guy raking in all the price money and the fame. But I don't know if I can just change who I am. If I try to revert back to the Russian Fairy now, nobody would believe that even for a second, and it would just look like I'm desperate and trying to copy him. And even if I came up with something else, there's no guarantee it'll work. It seems like no matter how hard I try, they've already made their decision that my time is over. So what's the point?”

Otabek raised an eyebrow at him. “So you're just gonna do their indirect bidding and quit? Just like that? Without a fight? Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

Yuri's lips quirked up at that, but his scowl didn't quite disappear as he slapped Otabek's arm.

“It's not like I _want_ to quit. I just... it feels so pointless, sometimes. I've been working harder than ever, and that jackass gets showered with bonus points making me look like a fucking novice with that score.”

“At least you made the podium.”

Otabek bit his lip, regretting his words already. He had not meant to sound that bitter. He took pride in not being a sore loser and taking setbacks as dignified as possible, but hearing the current Olympic champion and World silver medalist complaining about missing out on another gold medal to add to his vast collection stung slightly, when he himself had not even made the Grand Prix Final this season.

Yuri's scowl had softened, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I'm sorry, Beka. I didn't mean- I know your season was a mess, I just-”

“It's alright. Forget I said anything. At least I can't complain about having been scored unfairly.”

“Excuse you, but that's bullshit. Your PCS have been too fucking low for ages!” Yuri snapped passionately.

Otabek shrugged, smiling slightly at the honest outrage in Yuri's voice. It felt nice, knowing that Yuri saw something special and worthwhile in his skating, even if others didn't.

“I missed both of my combos in the Long, Yura. No amount of PCS could have made up for that.”

“I bet Jackass Leroy's could have. Like, honestly, what's next? He won't get any deductions when he falls? The judges have become so shameless in their bias that I wouldn't even be fucking surprised!”

Otabek sighed. He remembered very well that Grand Prix Final in Barcelona, where JJ had snatched the bronze medal from Otabek's grasp even with an utterly botched short program. It had been the first time he'd witnessed Yuri go on a furious rant about how JJ's scores were inflated. Adorable and terrifying at the same time, the memory still brought a smile to his face. Having missed the podium didn't sting anymore – especially because of all the other, much better and far more important memories he had about Barcelona. It was just another loss that Otabek had long ago come to terms with and decided not to be bitter about. He couldn't quite imagine how different it must feel for Yuri, who was used to ending up on top of the podium more often than not, ever since his junior days.

“It's not his fault, Yura. You know he's not to blame, right?” Otabek pointed out, mentally preparing to completely kiss any hopes of peacefully falling asleep together any time soon good-bye.

It was dreadfully silent for a few moments during which Otabek hardly dared to breathe. Then Yuri seemed to deflate, his stretched out body sinking deeper into the sheets he was sprawled out on.

“Yeah, I know that,” he admitted in a silent voice, stunning Otabek into speechlessness until he added: “I still hate his fucking guts, though. I can't fucking stand him. I don't care if that's petty or unfair or some shit. I can't help it.”

“He can't help it, either, Yura,” Otabek said quietly, not sure if Yuri had any interest in being told this. But when Yuri didn't show any sign of wanting Otabek to shut up, he decided to go on. “He hates that he's getting these scores just as much as you do.”

“Tch. Yeah, sure,” Yuri snorted.

Otabek shook his head. “No, he does. He wants to compete against you on even footing. He knows his scores are inflated, and it's doing a number on his self-esteem.”

“Yeah, he's fucking full of himself!”

“Only for the cameras. And he never forgets to praise and respect his competitors.”

“Empty words, Beka. He's a well-trained PR puppy. It's the fucking King JJ show and I can't believe everyone's eating that shit up!”

Otabek wasn't sure how much of what he had talked about with JJ he should share with Yuri. He also wasn't sure how much Yuri would even want to hear.

“Yeah, it's a show,” Otabek nodded, “He's smiling for the cameras, but he's not happy with how things are at all. Honestly, he might just end up with impostor syndrome if this goes on, Yura. How would you feel if you were rewarded for something you didn't do? And I know there's a lot of PR stuff going on with his brand and everything, and of course he's got an image to protect. But he genuinely admires you. He's aware he'd have a hard time if you both skated clean and the judges scored both of you fairly.”

Yuri was silent for a while, and Otabek wondered if there was even the tiniest chance that Yuri believed him. It seemed miraculous that he had even tolerated to listen this far.

“Is that really true?”

Otabek nodded emphatically. “Yes.”

“Well. He's right, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. And so does he. But you both made mistakes this time and yours were more costly. Even without those inflated scores, he might still have beaten you.”

Otabek fully anticipated another outburst, but to his surprise none came. Yuri just let out a rattling breath, as if he was simultaneously shaking with anger and too exhausted to continue to be frustrated.

“I hate that you're probably right.”

Otabek smiled, pressing a kiss against Yuri's cheek, and decided to give pulling his angry kitten into an embrace one last shot. Yuri bristled only a little bit, before settling on blowing a frustrated huff against Otabek's collarbone.

“I still hate him, though,” Yuri pouted with a glare.

Otabek chuckled and shook his head.

“You also thrive on that rivalry with him, Yura. He has pushed you more than anyone, aside from yourself. I've seen you win competitions out of pure spite. Hell, I've seen you learn a quad lutz out of pure spite.”

Yuri huffed, but didn't argue the point, which Otabek took as a good sign. He gently stroked his hand up and down Yuri's back, wishing he was able to physically sooth his frustration and anger this way.

“Besides, you're too young to retire, kitten. This isn't ladies' singles.”

“Wow, Beka. The shade,” Yuri giggled and Otabek bit his lip.

“Yeah, that was a low blow,” he smirked, “Don't tell Mila I said that, or she'll punch me into retirement as well.”

“Don't worry, she seems super happy just doing ice shows with Sara,” Yuri replied, snuggling closer against Otabek, falling quiet for a moment. “You think you could be satisfied like that, one day? Just doing watered down programs for entertainment?”

“Have you ever actually watered down any of your exhibition skates, Plisetsky?” Otabek replied with a dry chuckle.

Yuri grinned and shrugged. “Sometimes I only do one quad.”

Otabek let out an amused snort. “I guess that counts.”

“No, but seriously, Beka.” Yuri poked his arm. “Do you think it can be enough? Going professional?”

“Maybe,” Otabek yawned, the topic far too deep and heavy for his current state of mind, “Might be nice, without all the pressure.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Yuri mumbled, frowning deeply, and Otabek leaned in to press a kiss against that furrowed brow, wanting to make the frown disappear.

It wasn't himself who he was concerned about being satisfied once their competitive careers were over. It was Yuri who needed the challenge and the competition like other people needed air to breathe.

In a way, doing shows for a couple of years after retiring could probably be considered as the afterglow of one's competitive career. So yeah, maybe Otabek would enjoy that. Within reason, of course. Some shows were definitely more to his taste than others. He cracked a grin, deciding that the topic was only as heavy as he allowed it to be.

“At least you will get a choice. I won't be so lucky. I already promised Phichit I'd become a permanent fixture in his ice shows when I'm retired. One of the reasons why I'm planning on competing until I'm eighty or something.”

His words had the desired effect; the frown disappeared from Yuri's face as he burst out laughing.

“You shouldn't have fucking promised him that, then.”

“I was drunk!”

“Well, then sober-introvert Otabek will just have to deal with the consequences of drunk-extrovert Otabek's choices,” Yuri shrugged, grinning without even a shred of sympathy – not that Otabek had expected any. He let out an exaggerated sigh and buried his face in Yuri's still slightly damp hair.

“He's gonna make me wear hamster-hats, Yura!” he whined, smiling when Yuri let out another cackle.

“God, it's gonna be fucking glorious. I can't wait!”

“You're cruel, kitten.”

Yuri just kept giggling. “You'll look adorable. How is finding my boyfriend adorable cruel? You're weird, Beka.”

“Fine, then I'm just gonna tell Phichit I won't do it unless he makes you participate as well. You're still pissed about that one time your fan-girls made you wear cat ears. Let's see how you handle a hamster-hat.”

Yuri poked his fingers into his ribs and Otabek let out an undignified squeak that he would have been embarrassed about had anybody besides Yuri heard it.

“I know you still haven't deleted that fucking cat-ear picture from your phone, asshole!” Yuri chided, fingers still mercilessly tickling Otabek's ribs, and he was too busy laughing to be able to reply. It was worth it, though, he decided. At least they weren't talking about retirement anymore. On the other hand, it couldn't hurt to fight back just a little bit.

Yuri squeaked when Otabek lunged at him with a vicious grin on his face.

When they fell back into the sheets a while later, breathing hard and stomachs hurting from laughing too hard, Otabek hoped that maybe now they could finally get a chance at curling up together and nap for a while.

“Fuck, I think my ribs are bruised,” Yuri panted, still giggling. Otabek chuckled and snuggled up against him, resting his head against his shoulder.

“Serves you right for having all those dangly limbs giving you an unfair advantage.”

“Tch, shuddup, shorty.”

Otabek bit his earlobe in retaliation, making him yelp, and they both laughed again, before settling into a comfortable silence.

Otabek was about to finally drift off into a nice, well-deserved nap, when Yuri turned around in his arms, and he could feel those green eyes look at him even as his own remained closed.

“Okay, so maybe I'm not quite ready to retire.”

“Glad to hear it, kitten,” Otabek rumbled with a smile, eyes still closed.

“Part of me still wants to just turn my back on this whole shit-show, though.”

Otabek half-opened one eye to glance at his boyfriend, who looked just as tired and jet-lagged as Otabek felt, but was worrying his lip between his teeth again, clearly still too caught up in his inner struggle to fall asleep.

“I was always convinced that you wouldn't even think about retirement before you finally landed that quad axel, but you do you, Yura.” His dry, dismissive tone only managed to earn him a piercing glare. He poked Yuri's hip where he knew a dark purple bruise was hidden under his leopard-print boxers, making Yuri hiss before he could even say anything. “I know you're still practicing it.”

“That bruise is from a botched quad sal in warm-up, jerk.” Yuri stared at him through narrowed eyes, “Besides, I thought you didn't like that I'm going for the quad axel?”

“No, what I don't like is the thought of you breaking your legs in the process. That could very well end your career. Leaving all the medals for JJ to take.”

“He's already taking them either way, that's the whole fucking problem here! If all they care about anymore are jumps then being the first to land a quad axel might be my only chance at getting back to my rightful place at the top!”

Otabek couldn't help but smile. As much as his concerns for Yuri's health were warranted – seeing that kind of determined fire in his eyes was something he would never get tired of.

Yuri would use his anger to fuel that fire, to forge him into a yet again improved version of himself. Maybe even to forge that damn quad axel. Otabek didn't think it was impossible, or even unlikely anymore.

“You'll make it with or without the quad axel, Yura. And I'm already very much looking forward to it. I love it when you're on top,” he smirked, feeling quite pleased with himself when Yuri's lips quirked into a smile at that.

“Oh, I know you do,” Yuri smirked back at him, and a moment later he was straddling Otabek's hips, as if to prove a point. Blinking up into mischievous green eyes, Otabek suddenly found himself feeling a lot less sleepy.

“Sorry, by the way,” Yuri muttered, “I know I totally ruined your afterglow.”

Otabek let out a surprised laugh, and shook his head. “You didn't ruin anything, kitten.”

“Hm,” Yuri hummed thoughtfully, another smirk on his lips as he slowly rolled his hips against Otabek, “So you don't think we should recreate it?”

Otabek smiled, slid a hand up Yuri's strong thigh and the other into his hair. “Oh, no. We definitely should.”

When Yuri leaned down to kiss him, any thought of taking a nap was wiped clean from his mind. There would still be plenty of time for napping and afterglow. After all, the off-season had only just begun.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all similarities to real life figure skating are absolutely on purpose, though the opinions stated by the characters don't necessarily reflect those of the author ;) I just thought it would be interesting to explore these issues inside the YoI universe :)
> 
> The title is derived from the term "Chanflation" which was often used to describe the perceived overscoring of Canadian figure skater Patrick Chan. I love both Patrick and JJ and don't mean to bash either of them. The pun was just too perfect to resist. <3


End file.
